
Class / n . j ^c ^«^t/ 
Book i^ S/3 2 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



Ballads of Blyndham Town 



By 

Robert DeCamp Leland 

n 



^Oj^ 



Paul Bailey 
Amityville, New York 






Copyright. 1914, by 
Robeit DeCamp Leland 



SEP 101914 

CI.A379440 



THE LURE 

Who wouldn't be poet in May or in June ? 

Wlio wouldn't give ear to the lilt and the croon 

Of the birds, or give answer to Spring's world-old 

tune ? 
Through tlie green-mantled fields to wander care-free 
With a song in the heart-nature's long jubilee; 
Forgotten the cares of the mart and the trades — 
Aye, even the sneer of the Philistine fades. 



Who wouldn't be rhymester when spring days have come, 

When the call of the open, on winds frolicsome. 

Lures you forth, is there mortal whose heart could be 

dumb ; 
Deaf to the song of the river and rill, 
Blind to the beauty of mountain and hill? 
Ah, no, for Spring's call is too sweet to the ear — 
And the Philistine even forgets he must jeer. 



Who wouldn't give words to the song of the Spring, 
Where's the voice that at springtime's too sodden to sing 
At the joy of the long road, when care's on the wing; 
At the chant of the brooklet; the daisy-topped field; 
In lovetime and joy time when sorrows are healed? 
This the message of nature, of the old life re-born — 
Such that even the Philistine loses his scorn. 



MARY BRUNNER 

Oh, Mary Brunner's a fine lass, a joy to the heart is she, 
A smile in the midst of sorrow, calm on a storm-tossed 

sea. 
She's got the sweetest manner and eyes the blue of the 

sky; 
Yes, Mary Brunner's a fine lass, she's the kind of lass 
for me. 



Oh, Mary Brunner's a true lass, the kind that tells things 

straight ; 
When truth's to be told she tells it and she doesn't 

hesitate ; 
Not born to the guile of manners, she's the kind to 

glorify ; 
Yes, Mary Brunner's a true lass, sincere, compassionate. 



Oh, Mary Brunner's a queer lass, that's what you'd 

probably say; 
Slie had a chance to wed riches, but she married poor 

Dannie Gray; 
She loved him as he loved her, and she passed the 

riches by; 
Yes, Mary Brunner's a queer lass, for that isn't done 

todav% 



Oh^ Mary Erunner's a good lass, lier goodness a toast to 

men 
From Enfield Valley to Sherville and on to Brandon's 

Glen; 
Whenever men get together the glasses are raised on 

higli. 
For Mary Brunner's a good lass, true figure for sword 

and pen. 



Oh, Mary Brunner's a brave lass, one of the old- 
fashioned sort; 

She can pass the test of courage, she can shoulder the 
pauper's lot; 

True mate to the man and bravely, without the com- 
plainant's sigh: 

Oh, Mary Brunner's a brave lass, courageous in deed 
and thought. 



And ever down the long years, from the hearts of the 

humble throng. 
Her name will be chanted bravely, her memory ever 

strong ; 
Her's was the beauty and goodness that time will e'er 

beautify ; 
Her's is the name that dies not as long as men turn to 

song. 



SPRING 

Spring has come to Blyndham 

And o'er the country-side 

TJie years-young hand of nature 

Its beauty's glorified. 

Green are the fields as ever, re-clothed at the year's 

new birth ; 
Sure is that faith which never has failed to give joy to 

earth. 



The woods and the mountains so sombre 
Have now changed their shade to green; 
The brooklets are coursing swiftly 
To the valley far down, serene. 

There is the river slender, curling ever, onward, down; 
There is the flock and its tender, on the slope above 
Blyndham town. 



And all these gifts of springtime 

Are calling me to come 

And join them in their beauty 

Which seems — but is not — dumb. 

I hear them each minute, each liour, their call cannot be 

denied. 
Each brooklet, aye every flower, a message thrice 

beautified. 



For Spring has come to Blyndham, 

Has brought its cheer to all; 

And youth and age both answer 

United to its call. 

The fields and the woods are chiming with the birds in 

Spring's e'er sweet song; 
And gladness with hope is rhyming in that tribute 

through years still strong. 



THE CABIN AT THE CROSS-ROADS 

The cabin at the cross-roads stands deserted, silent, still ; 
Lone guardian of the meeting of the roads which o'er 

the hill 
Lead winding ever onward to distant Blyndham town, 
Here upon the mountainside they join, then hurry down. 



A cabin torn and broken now, rude palace of the past, 
Honeysuckle to your gables, lilacs on your walls 

amassed ; 
As if to guard your ruin from the sight of prying eyes — 
Thrice beautified Time's havoc hid by nature's sweet 

disguise. 

Glorious is the history written in those walls of gray. 
Mighty were those pioneers who bravely broke the way 
In the forefront of endeavor, unhonored men but true; 
This was the roof that sheltered them, this was the home 
they knew. 

What if its walls are time-stained and its dusty rooms 

are bare. 
The men who lived here simply had the will to do and 

dare ; 
Its rough-hewn timbers witness to their faith, their 

dauntless worth, 
The spark of courage kindled there gave progress to 

the earth. 



Close by the road it stands tlicre, silent ever through 

the years, '\ 

Tribute ever to the memory of its hardy pioneers ; 
This was the home they slaved for, the idol of their 

heart. 
Just a cabin by the cross-roads where the roads from 

I31yndham part. 



EDITH 

I'd like to know, please tell me, dear. 
Just why you always hesitate 
And blush and stammer, quite sedate. 
And turn your head when I am near. 



It's been this way for most a year — 
Please tell me, dear, compassionate. 
I'd like to know. 



Were I a mystic, wise, austere, 
This riddle I might penetrate; 
Your secret'll be inviolate. 
Come, tell me, sweet, I'll be sincere- 
I'd like to know. 



JUD RIVERS SAYS 

You ask me am I wealthy and my answer is just yes; 
Why shouldn't I be wealthy, there's the Gold of Spring's 

Caress — 
Tlie joy of living simply with no thought of care nor 

greed ; 
Humble I am but happy, aye and wealthy by that creed. 
What wealth is greater than nature, if your heart's 

unlocked to it? 
What greater joy than the forest when in Spring you 

tramp through it? 
Each flower a message to you as you walk the brooklet's 

side. 
And the solemn flow of the river's treasure greater than 

money-pride. 
Riches ! Who knows the sorrow and the pain that word 

has brought, 
The anguish and the suifering to the slaves who have 

been caught 
In the net of money-craving, that the lure for which 

they've fought. 
An' ye cannot dim their worship — for it's life to them 

an' more — 
Less they lose a precious minute piling up the golden ore 
In the tearing, snaring struggle, in the cursing, grinding 

race. 



Oh, I've seen the men of Babylon^ an' it's written on 

each face; 
Died and stamped on every heart there^ and it runs 

through every vein. 
Cursed the deeds of every mart there, given birth by 

the god of Gain. 
Life to them is but a mocking, but a mire to trample 

through 
As they wallow in the dollars, ever start the count 

anew ; 
Blind their eyes to nature's treasure, blind their souls to 

the call of Spring, 
Weary their backs to the money measure; voiceless, for 

gold is the song they sing. 
Let them take the trail and journey from the mart and 

lose their blame 
On the long road to the mountains, in the rivers purge 

their shame ; 
This was the home God gave them, these the hills from 

whence thev came. 



A ROMANCE OF THE FOUR CORNERS 

John Severn's courtin' Sarah Shaw, 
The daughter of the smith ; 
No wonder John's enamored, 
Sarah's beauty is no myth. 



Fairer than the fair she is; 
Sweeter than the sweet; 
Lovelier than the roses 
Where road and river meet. 



'Twas evening just at mailtime 
When first the lovers met; 
'Twas Spring, love's never-fail-time, 
When youth will not forget. 



John stood within the doorway 
Of the office, Sarah passed; 
Their eyes met for a moment. 
Met and wavered, then held fast. 



Love only needs a second's time 
To have its story told; 
In that swift glance was born romance- 
Life's sweetness never old. 



And ever since that meetin' 
The two've been lovers true — 
But John's not asked the question^ 
Though it's what he'd like to do. 



The cause is more than bashfulness, 
For John's not popular 
With old Bruce Shaw — that is the flaw- 
An' Bruce is Sarah's Pa. 



Pa thinks that John's a dandy 
An' a quitter an' afraid 
To soil his hands in workin' — 
Can't tell a hoe from spade. 



But love^ though it be side-tracked. 
Will always find a way. 
You can't dissuade a lad and maid- 
Love only they obey. 



'Twas yesterday it happened, 
An' old Pa Shaw's contrite; 
For John has proved his courage 
And to Sarah's hand his right. 



It happened at the smithy 
Just at noontime by the clock; 
The crowd was standin' jawin' 
Of the weather an' such talk. 



Old Shaw was there in apron, 
An' Johnny stood there, too; 
An' all the crowd was lazy 
For the mornin's work was through. 



Of a sudden round the corner 
Up the road a team tore past, 
An' Mrs. Clyffe, the parson's wife 
Within it holdin' fast. 



The reins were draggin' on the ground 
An' it seemed 'sif all were lost. 
When out jumps John as quick as if 
From a cannon he'd been tossed. 



He leaped right for the bridle — 
A dive an' then a drop — 
'Twas all «o fast w« stood aghast, 
The team came to a stop. 



Of all the crowd to give John their hand 
Bruce Shaw gave his first an' true ; 
An' within the village church next week 
Sarah's goin' to give hers, too. 



THE LONG ROAD 

The lilacs are a-blooraing 

On every lawn and hedge 

By every fence and arbor 

And at the long road's edge ; 

Their world-old sweetness blending 

With man's joy at Time's despair^, 

Their simple beauty lending 

To the Spring its message fair. 

Lilacs, flower of lovetime 
Born its joys to sing; 
Yours the fairest message — 
Lilacs, born of Spring. 

Up the long road to the mountains, 
Up the trail in lilac-time 
Lad and maiden take the journey 
Lovers true with hearts in rhyme. 
'Tis evening and 'tis springtime 
And aye, 'tis lovetime, too; 
So there upon the long road 
They hear youth's call anew. 

Lilacs, flower of lovetime. 
Yours the voice of May; 
Yours the sweetness ever 
That sends sorrow on its way. 



Heart to heart there beating, 

Soul to soul in tune, 

Hand to hand — Love's greeting — 

Up the lilac trail in June. 

Forgetful all of sorrow, 

Two lovers but as one ; 

Glad eyes fixed on the morrow. 

Toward the hills and setting sun. 

Lilacs, flower of lovetime. 
The heart of youth is yours; 
The beauty and the sweetness 
Of love that e'er endures. 



EVENTIDE 

Love's song of the long ago, 
Fair remembrance though years pass by- 
Sweet and low was that youth we know. 



By the river's silver flow 

We heard it first, you and I — 

Love's song of the long ago. 



'Twas Springtime and nature, lo ! 

Our love seemed to beautify — 

Sweet and low was that vouth we know. 



Years pass, but though quick or slow 
One measure can never die. 
Love's song of the long ago. 



Never discords that life may show 

Love's rhythm can modify. 

Sweet and low was that youth we know. 



And ever we'll keep it so. 

Time its beauty will glorify; 

Love's song of the long ago, 

Sweet and low was that vouth we know. 



MAYTIME 

'Tis Maytime now in Blyndham and the Spring calls 

out to me, 
Calls me softly o'er the mountains, o'er the valleys, 

through the lea ; 
I hear it 'mid the clamor, that message from the hills. 
My home of childhood's memory with its river, dale and 
rills. 



I long to leave tlie Crucible, to journey there again, 
Back across the mountains and to lose my care and pain; 
Lost upon the long road that leads away and down, 
Winding o'er the ridges onward down to Blyndham town. 



I can see again the homestead sheltered by the elms in 

May, 
The old trail by the river where a lad I used to play; 
Where hours were as minutes, each day a round of joy. 
Oh, that this life here had been not, would I were again 

that bov. 



The city's wheels whirl faster and the grind is endless, 
long; 

But ever there's the promise given birth by Maytime's 
song. 

Its message ever calling, calling me to journey there, 
Over mountain, vale and river back again to Blyndham 
fair. 



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